


Whiff

by quaffanddoff



Series: Give_Satisfaction [1]
Category: Jeeves & Wooster, Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse
Genre: Body odor, M/M, Mots français, POV Bertie, Sexual Tension, Sweat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:15:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21655111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quaffanddoff/pseuds/quaffanddoff
Summary: Jeeves physically exerts himself; Bertie has a surprising reaction.
Relationships: Reginald Jeeves/Bertram "Bertie" Wooster
Series: Give_Satisfaction [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1561192
Comments: 6
Kudos: 44





	Whiff

That afternoon, my brow was furrowed in confusion. It was bad. But it was good. It's bad and good simultaneously? It's half-bad, half-good? It's bad but I like it? What exactly is going on here?

I took another deep inhale to be sure. As the cab rumbled along the London streets, the usual city scents wafted about the air. But one stood out, and not solely because its source was most proximate. It was unmistakably body odor, and in my experience, that alone is enough to disqualify a smell from being pleasant. But if I was being honest with myself, I just couldn't get enough of it. How was that possible?

I chalked it up to the latest of the infinite ways that my man is unlike any other man I've ever known.

The man in question cleared his throat gently. I had the suddenly guilty sense that my sniffing hadn't gone unobserved. "Sir, I must apologize for my sudoric state. Although the weather is exceedingly warm, I thought it worthwhile to exert the utmost effort in my endeavor..."

I held up a hand. "Not a word of it, Jeeves! Without you zipping off like a speeding bullet chasing after a smaller, fluffier speeding bullet, MacIntosh would be a furry face on a milk carton and Aunt Agatha would do a lot worse to us both than make us a tad sweaty. It was a dashed impressive display and I must thank you again."

Jeeves inclined his head. "You're very kind, sir." The cab pulled up to the homestead and we disembarked, Jeeves carrying the wriggling pooch under his arm. I lingered half a step behind as we entered the residence, hoping to discreetly catch another whiff. As I did so, I noticed that the glossy hairs at the back of his head were flat to the glistening, flushed skin of his neck and behind his ears. The effect, seen on plenty of men but never before on _my_ man, was oddly fascinating. His hat and his jacket looked impeccable as always, so this small window between brim and collar was the only indication that any exertion had taken place. As I looked, a bead wandered down the side of his neck and I found myself imagining the salty taste.

What? I mean, _what?_

The _chien_ was set down on the floor of the apartment and promptly zoomed off to wreak further havoc, at least in a contained area this time. Jeeves removed his hat and I could see that the front of his hair, too, always neat and sleek, was extra slicked down in that curiously captivating way. His cheeks were also colored in an objectively fetching manner. "I should like to bathe posthaste, sir," he said, "but first, can I get you anything?"

"No no, make yourself comfortable, old thing!" I insisted, although I felt a pang of disappointment that this shiny, aromatic marvel would go back to being a matte, hygienic marvel all too soon. He shimmered off.

My eyes alighted upon his recently doffed bowler hanging on the hat rack. I threw a furtive glance toward the doorway of his lair into which he had just disappeared, and couldn't seem to stop myself from gravitating to the rack. I breathed in the air inside the _chapeau_ for just a brief moment. 

Then I continued to do so for a few more longer moments. 

Then I got a grip on myself and walked away, shaking my head in confusion.

Time to return to reality. How long had this whole adventure taken, anyway? A glance at my bare wrist reminded me that my watch had stopped earlier. I had given it to Jeeves, who had put it in his jacket pocket for safekeeping until he could bring it to be fixed.

His jacket.

I tiptoed into his room. I could hear soft bath sounds from behind the closed door of the _salle de bain_. I spied his jacket in the hamper and gingerly removed it. It was more damp than I expected; the man certainly knew how to sweat when he really put his glands to it. I retrieved the watch from the pocket, realizing much too late that it would of course be no help in telling me the time. My gaze then fell to the semi-translucent _chemise_ at the top of the hamper. My eyes flicked to the bathroom door, then to the shirt, then the door again. After a while of this game of pupil ping pong, I decided I was safe to act. I picked up the item and examined it. I turned it a few times until I found the spot on the inside where sleeve met shirt.

Join me again some time later, when I open my eyes (which had slid shut in bliss) and saw Jeeves, but less literally, I saw myself as he must see me: his employer, uninvited, unexpected, plunged snout-deep into the pungent armpit of his soiled, discarded shirt. My heart did an impression of my watch abruptly stopping. I was too startled to even give a guilty start.

Jeeves was clean once more. He wore a towel around his waist and a neutral expression on his face. He looked as though he were watching a humdrum thing being exceptionally unremarkable. He strode over to me and tugged something else out of the hamper. He handed it to me without a word, only a small, feudal nod, and disappeared back into the bathroom.

This story ends with the young master feeling just as confused as he felt when it started, but now with a pair of underpants clutched in his lucky hands, his palms sweaty for reasons that have nothing to do with exercise or weather conditions. So, if nothing else, he now has something specific and tangible upon which to blame his confusion, and that, at least, is some small improvement.


End file.
